A few years ago Stuart Pearce was interviewed by one of the broadsheets and, probably with good reason, not exactly delighted when he found they had inserted his London twang throughout the copy. It was like reading the transcript from an episode of Steptoe and Son. The time he was arrested for climbing up traffic lights on Wembley high street? "I've 'ad me moments. But I've learned from 'em, see?" The day Brian Clough asked him to mend a faulty kettle? "Couldn't fix it, though, 'is element 'ad gone."

Nobody, interestingly enough, has ever done this with Harry Redknapp but, then again, Fleet Street has seldom fluttered its eyelashes at Pearce in the way it does the Spurs manager. The closest Pearce got to a love-in was his first six months as Kevin Keegan's successor at Manchester City, when he turned a losing team into a winning one. Redknapp was managing Southampton at the time and doing so badly Portsmouth's supporters had started referring to him as Agent Harry.

As it turned out, Beanie the Horse was not a particularly lucky mascot for Pearce and when he was sacked a couple of years later City had not managed a league goal at home from New Year's Day until the end of the season.

Dennis Tueart released his autobiography last autumn and it confirmed what we probably already knew, namely that Pearce was fiercely devoted but made basic errors of judgment and "never had a full grasp of transfers and recruitment". Tueart, a director at the time, admitted the club were trying to replace him well before they did. The chapter on Pearce was called "Treading Water". Redknapp, in contrast, could fall into the Thames and come up with a salmon in his top pocket.

A lot of the goodwill for Pearce seems to have lapsed in the following years judging by the general reaction when he made his pitch to manage England at Euro 2012. "They [the FA] know exactly what I want to do," the caretaker manager said. "If they need me, I'll do it with pleasure."

Which was straying a long way from the public opinion polls. The longest-running caretaker in London was Harold Pinter's in the 1960s and, put bluntly, most people would rather it stay that way. The reason is simple: English football has gone past that stage when it is seduced by men who clench their fists and roar the words to God save the Queen. Management needs more than that, as Bryan Robson, Terry Butcher and many others can testify. More ice, less fire. This is why Gary Neville has decided it is not for him but can see a day when Ryan Giggs manages Manchester United. Neville used to sit next to Pearce on England duty. "He scared the life out of me the first time we warmed up at Wembley. 'This is our fucking turf, my fucking turf,' he kept snarling."

It brings to mind a Uefa Cup run at Nottingham Forest in the mid-90s when Pearce would stand at the dressing-room door and scream: "We're English, remember we're English" – an interesting slant given the team included a Dutchman, a Norwegian, a Scot and a Welshman.

A couple of months from turning 50, he is more of a thinker now. He may have squeezed in references to 1966, Euro 96 and Afghanistan in one sitting with the press on Thursday, but there is more to him these days than the old caricature. Pearce has been trying to re-invent his image for years. "It can be awkward," he explained to me once, "when I go out for dinner with my wife and, on the other side of the restaurant, they get to their feet and start chanting 'Psycho! Psycho!'"

What can be said is that he will put everything into it because that has been the rule ever since he started working as an electrician for Brent council, playing non-league football with Wealdstone, and worked his way up without ever falling for the rich man's trappings. Pearce was still fixing toasters in the season he won the first of his 78 England caps. He advertised in the Forest programme: "Stuart Pearce, Electrician. Repairs and Maintenance. All work guaranteed – 0602 847224". When money started to flood the game it was Pearce's black Ford Capri stubbornly parked among the Porsches. If you dislike the way modern-day footballers threaten to drown in their own egos, there is plenty to admire about Pearce's absolute refusal to budge. "An electrician one day and a footballer the next," he said week. "I'm still the same person."

The jury is still out on whether Pearce is a good manager. His only mitigation at City was that, for the most part, they were skint. Yet that just made it worse when Pearce splurged £5m on Georgios Samaras, the Greek striker who became known as "Tragedy". Pearce reached a semi-final in his first European Championship with the England Under-21s and lost the final in his second, but last year's tournament revealed a team with an alarming lack of cohesion. Whatever Redknapp decides, this is not the record of a manager who should be putting himself forward for Euro 2012.

Pearce's squad for the Holland game on Wednesday is a courageous one, though, and he cannot be accused of short-termism. It would have been easy, after all, to rely on the old guard when the opposition is officially the third best international side. Instead Pearce has set his mind on experimentation, bringing in younger players and knowing that if it all goes wrong there will be another red cross on his CV, maybe this time in permanent marker. Nobody can accuse him of playing safe.